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"I no longer have access to the technology needed for that 'geospatial whatsit stuff.' "
"You can't do it without computers? I thought you said you have friends who are techno-wizards."
"I do but---" He runs a hand over his face and sighs. "They don't understand the intricacies of geospatial analysis."
"Thane, you are a very smart man. Surely you can figure out how to track down Holden without computers."
He stares into the distance behind me, and I swear I can almost hear the gears clicking in his brain. "Maybe I could do that. Charles Picquet, a French geographer, was the first to employ spatial analysis in the nineteenth century. He tracked cholera outbreaks in Paris that way. Two decades later, John Snow expanded on Picquet's idea by bringing in the concept of spatial analysis. And then in the early twentieth century, photozincography was developed. That's a process that made it possible to isolate the layers of a map."
"They did all that without computers."
"Aye. But it wasn't until the nineteen-nineties that true geospatial analysis began to be created. Even then, no one could have imagined how much and how quickly the technology would evolve."
The look on his face tells me that he's getting more ideas.
He faces the coffee table, setting his feet atop it. "I might not have access to the most high-tech geospatial platforms. But I can certainly dig up some publicly available data to give me an idea of where to find Holden. He doesn't know the area, so I have an even greater advantage over him. And I could use physical maps to assist me."
I smack a kiss on his cheek. "I knew you'd figure it out. You're not just a hot body and a pretty face. You've got the brains to back it up."
He laughs softly. "Going a wee bit overboard, aren't you? I'm no genius."
"Au contraire. It's not possible to go overboard when I'm complimenting you."
"Gràidh, you are quite a woman."
No other man would say the things that he says about me. Thane isn't afraid to sound mushy or to admit when he's stumped or he's screwed up. The man fell to his knees to beg my forgiveness when all he did was ignore me for a few days. I can't imagine how he might apologize if he actually hurt my feelings.
I sit up and set my feet on the floor, clasping my hands as I turn toward him. "You must want to get started on finding Holden. But could I give you the abridged version of my marketing campaign first? It won't take long."
"Of course. I'd love to hear about it." He settles a hand on my thigh. "Dinnae need to abridge your plan. Tell me all of it now."
"Some of the details need fleshing out, but here's the gist of it." I used to always get a little bit nervous before a presentation, and I would relax once I got started. But here with Thane, I don't feel even a tiny twinge of anxiety. "This whole campaign relies on one simple fact. You are the distillery, Thane. Without you, everything would fall apart. Not only are you the master distiller, but you're also the master maltster. You craft every new variation with exquisite care and attention to detail. I want everyone to see just how brilliant you are."
"I reckon that makes sense, even if I don't like being the focus of a promotional plan."
"You aren't just the focus, Thane. You are my campaign."
"What? Dinnae understand."
I slide a little closer to him. "This campaign will feature you. Every print ad, every radio ad, every bit of marketing material, it will all showcase you---the handsomest, sexiest, smartest, most innovative whisky maker in the Highlands and possibly the whole of Scotland."
His face goes blank. He stares at me without even blinking, and his lips have fallen open a little bit too. "Ye cannae be suggesting that you'll put my face on everything."
"That's exactly what we'll do. Print ads will feature your gorgeous face. Radio ads will feature your smoky voice. The creative for social media ads will also feature those two elements. It's all about you, Thane."
"Mhac na galla." He whispered that phrase as if it were an incantation to ward off evil.
I shimmy even closer and grasp his face with both hands. "Do you trust me, Thane?"
"Aye."
"I mean all the way."
"Your plan might have shocked me, but I do trust you implicitly. If you believe this is the right way to promote the distillery, I'll do whatever you suggest."
He says that now, and I know he means it, but I have one more element of my campaign to share with him. This one just might be the deal breaker.
"If you really trust me implicitly..." I hesitate for precisely two seconds. "We need to change the name of the distillery. No more unpronounceable Gaelic phrase. From here on, it will be called the Thane Buchanan Distillery. And your original single-malt will be renamed Thane Black Label."
